


my baby goes bang, bang, bang (die and kill for love)

by weavesunlight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weavesunlight/pseuds/weavesunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is faced with a choice—let Scott die, or kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my baby goes bang, bang, bang (die and kill for love)

You will do horrible things for love. You will blink and your hands will be red and your eyes will be sharp and black. For the first time your teeth will feel like fangs.

Blood will drip down your wrist, staining your arm. Your shirt will be dyed red with dirt and blood and ripped at the stomach where the wolf slashed you open, three quick, violent strokes. You will not feel the pain.

Wolf’s blood will mix with yours and his and you will want to paint it on the wall and on your face and on him. Make art with it, because it is a beautiful thing. Capture your anger and frustration in love in lines, with strong slashes with your fingers on the wall and on his face. Mark him with it, in a way that will stain his skin when bruises fade because you know he will never forget. He will never let you forget. You will have three scars, white and thick down your stomach that you will wear with pride and shame and you will remember. He will have none and he will remember. 

He will look at you. You will realize how wicked your smile is and how your teeth glint white in the moonlight—the only thing left clean. You will lick your lips and taste blood and he will turn away. You will wonder how he is the wolf when you use your teeth. His eyes will fade from gold; his hair will recede. He will look human, curled onto himself in pain and betrayal like you slit his throat instead of the wolf’s and you will wonder why. Doesn’t he understand you saved him? This blood on your hands is not someone’s—it’s your love for him, physical, visceral. It is proof that you love him above all things. The wolf is your sacrifice and he is your god and you prayed for his safety. They demanded an offering, fresh, throat slit—him, or the wolf. He will find the sacrifice unworthy; will say that killing is never worth it. You will burn the body, prayers on your lips. You will pray for his safety. You will pray for forgiveness. 

You will smell fear, for the first time, pungent and bitter. It will smell of iron, and sandalwood and promises—unspoken, broken. It will come from him. You will think you can hear his heart. It beats fast, fast, faster, but it is yours. It is your heartbeat, rabbit-quick, that you feel in your fingers and in your toes and it is your blood that rushes through your ears.

You will throw the knife in the air and watch it spin, silver-red and you will catch the wooden handle and twirl it on your fingers, as if to say, _it’s alright, I know what I’m doing._ You will not. Bloodlust has been boiling in your veins and it will overflow, standing on top of a wolf with a knife at its throat and a bullet in its chest. A wolf that had captured him, tortured him, hurt him—your pack, your brother. The world will go black then red and you will blink and your hands will be red and your teeth will be sharp and you will smell fear, pungent and bitter and he will turn away.

You will do horrible things for love. He sees the world in black and white and you see it how it is—black and grey and streaked with red. It is darkness and more darkness and a question with four wrong answers and death. There is no white, you will tell him. There is no other way. It will be dark, and your arm will be thrown across his chest and he will turn your face towards his and whisper, of course there is. You will nod, but you will not believe him. You will hope your heart stays steady, even as it skips a beat.

His plan will involve sacrifice. He will be the lamb for the slaughter, the burnt offering. His blood will shield you and his pack. He will want you to play to their side, to betray him. You will turn away and say, _I can’t betray you. Not after all of this._ He will put a hand on your shoulder and say _it is the best way, the only way._ You will turn to him, eyes salty and burning and say, _I can’t lose anyone else._ You will hold him close, and try to bite away your tears, but they will wet his tanned shoulder and run down his chest and his hand will rub strong and sure down your back. You will gather your resolve, pray for his forgiveness later. You cannot lose him. You would rather lose yourself.

He is light. He is pure, golden, shining light. He is the lighthouse guiding you away from rocks but you will listen to a siren’s call, sweet and syrupy, and you will drown. The lighthouse wants to save you, but lighthouse can only try. Some ships are destined for wreckage.

He is goodness. He is the sun in an endless night, when you want nothing more than to bid the moon an eternal farewell. His dawn is sweet, rosy pink. You know you must protect the light. You musn’t let it dim. You are the full moon and the new moon and the waxing moon. You pull the wolf from inside him, dare it to flash its teeth. Your light is only a reflection of him. Your brightness is only his.

You are a boy who burnt leaves and ants with a magnifying glass and the sun because you could, and because your mother mentioned once that she didn’t like ants. You started a one-boy crusade against them, because you could, and because you thought it would make her happy. You spent all day in the sun, and came back red and burnt and smelled like smoldering leaves. She rubbed aloe on your arms to stop the stinging and told you she loved you and kissed your forehead. You will remember, afterward, when you drive him home and he is silent and frightened and frightening all at the same time. There will be a thunderstorm under his skin, and his eyes will flash lightning. You will pull in front of his house, and he will lead you inside. His mother will stitch your wounds and he will throw you a worn shirt and will not be able to meet your eyes when he thanks you.

You will call, and hear him happy for a moment and leave a halting message. You will call again, and leave another message, more sure. You will call a third time, but hang up after you hear the beep.

He will call you and say he understands and you will wonder if gods do exist, because there was the forgiveness you prayed for. The sirens are calling and he throws you a rope, ties you to the mast, and screams through the tempest I will not let you go. You are more than a wreck at the bottom of the sea.

You will do horrible things for love. Beautiful, terrible things. He will not see their beauty, but he is alive to see it, and it is a small price to pay. Let the moon darken the sun. Let the shadow fall upon the earth, and ancient people ask why their gods have forsaken them. Gods have forsaken you long ago, they took your mother and tried to implode the sun.

Take me instead, you will plead. I will be all the darkness you desire. You will eclipse him, but he will shine all the brighter. There is no light without darkness. You will be the night if he can be day. 

You will do horrible things for love. There’s a shadow on your heart, boy. There is blood on your hands and red in your eyes and his name on your lips, thick like honey, salty like blood. It catches in your throat. It’s on your heart. Every beat is his name, a rhythm that has pitted your ribs more than claws ever could.


End file.
